


Fair eves that fly

by Margot_Lescargot



Series: Burdens of Responsibility [6]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: (possibly contravening s5(3) of the Criminal Law Act 1977), (set between Foxglove Summer and The Hanging Tree), M/M, Nightingale gets his emotional shit together, crack with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 00:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margot_Lescargot/pseuds/Margot_Lescargot
Summary: If you go down to the woods today...Nightingale gets his act together re: Seawoll.
Relationships: Thomas Nightingale/Alexander Seawoll
Series: Burdens of Responsibility [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522985
Comments: 27
Kudos: 41





	Fair eves that fly

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to PerchingOwl as ever for saving the day.  
Title taken from Goblin Market by Christina Rossetti.  
This follows on from previous works in the series (and doesn't make a huge amount of sense without them) and exists somewhere between Foxglove Summer and The Furthest Station.

Alex

‘You have got to be fucking kidding me.’

Alex had gone down to the custody suite at Belgravia to see how the work on the cells was going.

It wasn’t what he would have asked for in an ideal world, but this wasn’t an ideal world was it? It was a world with weird shit in it. He might have to accept it, but he didn’t have to like it. 

But he couldn’t ignore anything that might have an impact at an operational level. Since Lesley and that… he knew he wasn’t supposed to say black magician, well, him anyway, the faceless one, were out there somewhere - and god only knew what else besides, rising up through the cracks - he’d accepted, with as good a grace as he could manage, that when they got caught there'd have to be somewhere _special_ to put them. 

So now two of the cells at Belgravia were being “modified” – or at least that was the word Grant had used to persuade the Commissioner. It was just a shame, he thought mournfully, that it had to be in his nick.

As this was the evening they’d set aside for the Folly contingent to enchant – _enchant_ for fucks sake – the cells in question, Alex thought he might as well wander down and monitor progress. 

The first thing that he saw when he came out of the lifts was Miriam and Sahra, propped up against the wall, watching with interest whatever was happening further down the corridor and giving the strong impression that all they were missing was a large bucket of popcorn.

And then Alex saw what they were looking at. He realised he hadn’t known quite what to expect - he’d deliberately steered clear of the finer details - but what he _hadn’t_ been prepared for was the sight of Thomas beating what looked like variegated strips of metal with a hammer on a wooden block. He had removed his jacket, and though his collar was loosened slightly, his tie remained but was tucked into the buttons half-way down his shirt front and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to above his elbows. His hair, usually so neatly combed and parted, had started to hang loosely over his forehead as he swung the hammer.

‘Oh fuck,’ thought Alex. ‘Oh fuckity fuck fuck.’

Thomas, noticing Alex’s presence, looked up and gave him a quick grin then turned back to the bit of metal he was bending into shape, and continued muttering… incantations was all that Alex could come up with. 

Alex was no longer under any illusions, or he was pretty certain he wasn’t, about how matters now stood between them. If he went by actions rather than words that is. But, just as he had himself, Thomas had made his position very clear that night in the coach house, and - if he had changed his mind - then it was up to Thomas to say something. All things considered, Alex thought it was fairly likely that he would, at some point, given the way Thomas had reacted when he’d said he could call him Alex again. (Alex was convinced that, in that moment, they’d _both_ recalled the exact circumstances in which Thomas had once said his name several times and in quick succession.)

Alex refocused on the scene in front of him. He noticed for the first time that Peter appeared to be doing something with a paintbrush and a pot of paint, and then he saw that Thomas was now bending over to lift another set of metal strips onto the block.

This really wasn’t helping matters. After nodding at Miriam and Sahra, he said as casually as he could ‘Well I can see you’ve got your hands full. I’d best leave you to it,’ and beat a retreat to his office.

Thomas

Although obviously somewhat rusty at the courtship thing after all this time, Thomas thought he was still able to detect when someone was interested. He was relatively sure that applied to Alex - especially since he’d said he _could_ call him Alex again. Indeed, Thomas had thought that that concession might precipitate something further on Alex’s part, but that had been several weeks ago now and nothing else had been forthcoming. 

Thomas had decided that it was time for him to do something. He wasn’t quite sure what, yet, he hadn’t played this game for a very long time. But something. He saw Alex frequently these days, particularly since Peter had been given his own desk at Belgravia, and their working relationship was as good as it had ever been. But the growth in friendship by degrees had made Thomas realise – and it had taken longer than it probably should have, he conceded – that it wasn’t entirely what he wanted. Or rather, not just that. 

He thought increasingly of Alex; of the way he grinned at him, as if sharing a secret, and how he looked at him sometimes with a mixture of exasperation and affection, Thomas was sure. He remembered the night in the coach house, how Alex's body had felt as it moved against his, the strength and the solidity of him, the tenderness also, mixed with fire. And so, he thought, if there _was_ the possibility of more than friendship, then he would like more please.

But then Thomas remembered, and he could not do so now without wincing slightly, exactly what he had said in the coach house that night.

So if there was anything worth pursuing with Alex, anything worth salvaging from that night almost two years ago, then it was his responsibility to find it, as he was the one who had frustrated it in the first place. He couldn’t think why, now. He couldn’t remember exactly what it had been that had made him babble as he had. He knew now – ought to have known then, of course - that Alex did not have a furtive bone in his body, and that if his staff did not know the ins and outs of his private life, it was because he knew the importance for junior officers of preserving the divisions of rank.

Thomas would make it right if he could, and, if he couldn’t, well so be it. He flattered himself he had a _fairly_ good chance of succeeding – he had caught the look on Alex’s face when they’d been enchanting the cells - but if it turned out he did not, then matters couldn’t possibly be any worse between them than they had been after Covent Garden. It might be embarrassing if it transpired that Alex was no longer interested in pursuing anything, but.. Thomas had lived a long time, and, of all things to be concerned about, embarrassment really was the least of them.

So Thomas waited for an opportunity to do… whatever it was he was going to do; he wasn’t a great one for the details, he rather thought taking a flexible approach would be best. Which was how he found himself walking through Kew Gardens with Alex one fine autumn evening a few weeks later. Somewhat fortuitously, he’d taken a call from a disgruntled-sounding DS from Richmond Borough Command while they were both driving back from a senior-level seminar on dealing with the press. It was Thomas who was requested to undertake a Falcon re-assessment of the tunnel under Kew, given Peter’s continued status as persona non grata anywhere in the near vicinity. When Thomas relayed this, Alex indicated he had no objection to tagging along, on the basis that the shout was unlikely to involve anything remotely out of the ordinary.

Once Thomas had looked at the tunnel, and confirmed that his suspicions were correct to the letter, he bade farewell to the DS liaising from Richmond, who waved them off with relief.

Alex was looking around for the quickest route back to the car park when Thomas remarked upon the clemency of the weather, adding ‘Shall we walk for a bit? It seems a shame to waste it. Or did you need to be back in town for anything?’

‘Not until later this evening,’ Alex shrugged. ‘Alright then. Why not?’

They followed a path into the Gardens which ran parallel to the river. Thomas could feel the vague pull of Mama Thames; nothing too specific, just a reminder that she was still there.

The late autumn sunlight slanted through the branches of the trees onto the grass and those leaves that had begun to fall. They were far away from the formality of the landscaping of other parts of the Gardens; here the woodland had been allowed to grow as it pleased and the trees which had been introduced gave the impression of having turned native. It was still warm enough to stroll without an overcoat, and the ground was dry underfoot, getting ready, although perhaps not _quite_ yet, for its winter sleep.

‘I do love it here,’ said Thomas ‘I’ve been coming here for years, whenever I get the chance. I like seeing how everything changes and renews as the seasons pass. I’ve roamed every inch of it; you know, I think there are few places on earth I know so well as this one.’ He considered. ‘Also, I like trees.’

‘You like trees?’

‘I like trees,’ insisted Thomas, ‘and here they have a particularly splendid collection.’

Thomas pointed out the trees he found of particular interest as they walked and Alex looked about him. It really was a beautiful evening; there was little wind to speak of and no noise except the lap of the water as every so often a boat sped by. Thomas heard Alex inhale deeply and exhale and cast a look at him to see that he was smiling. He caught his eye and smiled back. 

They followed the path as it turned back into woodland and away from the river.

‘Where exactly are we going Thomas?’ asked Alex after they had gone a little way down the path.

‘Nowhere in particular. I just thought it worth taking advantage of the weather, while we were here anyway, to stretch our legs a little before we get in the Jag and drive back to town. And look,’ he said, moving towards a specific tree, ‘at this Japanese pagoda tree here, it’s at least a couple of hundred years old.’

‘Hang on a minute.’ Alex faced him. ‘Did you really bring me here to talk about trees?’

‘Well the trees here are tremendously interesting. As I say, it’s a world-class collection, they have over 2000 different species including …’

‘Thomas,’ said Alex warningly.

‘Right. No. That wasn’t entirely why I brought you here,’ he cleared his throat. ‘There was something else of, er, greater interest that I wanted to discuss with you.’

‘I’m listening,’ said Alex and settled back against the trunk of the tree with his hands in his pockets.

There was nothing to do but plunge in. ‘I was wrong.’

‘How so?’

‘The things that I said. That night. They weren’t perhaps wrong in general, but, I see now, wrong in context.’ There was a pause. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Not particularly,’ and Thomas saw that Alex was going to make him do this properly.

He took a deep breath. ‘I had not, have not, been involved with anyone for quite some time. That is no excuse for my behaviour, I concede, but there it is. And I have come to realise – came to realise - that I ought not to have said what I did.’

‘Fine, understood. So what’s changed?’

‘I don’t know exactly. Well yes I do, I suppose. It probably has to do with Peter and everything he began to represent. Life, for want of a better word. And inquiry. Beginning to engage with the world again, properly; moving out of that wretched stasis.’ He paused. ‘Sorry, that makes it all sound far too portentous, and really it’s not like that.’

‘So far as _this_ is concerned’, and he gestured towards himself and Alex, ‘It just… took me some time to get used to the idea, to remember, in fact, what it’s like to be close to someone, to want to be close to someone. And frankly, having been reminded of it, so, er, eloquently’ he grinned mischievously, ‘I like the idea of it, I won’t lie. And,’ he added simply ‘ I like you.’

As he said so, Thomas took a step closer to Alex, but not so close as to crowd him. 

Alex shook his head briefly, but he was smiling. ‘You,’ he said and raised his hand to the side of Thomas’ face and rubbed a thumb along his cheekbone. Thomas gave an answering smile and Alex pulled Thomas gently towards him and kissed him. 

Thomas returned the kiss, and they continued in this way, both leaning against the ancient trunk, unhurriedly getting to know one another again. The odd solitary leaf whirled through the air around them to the ground, the river lapped against her banks in the distance and the sun crept lower towards the horizon.

In time, their kisses grew more intent, but not frantically so. Thomas pressed an experimental hand to Alex’s groin, and felt his cock twitch pleasingly in response, and he smiled against Alex’s mouth.

Thomas continued brushing his hand, with the lightest of touches, against the growing bulge in Alex’s trousers, until Alex broke the kiss to say, warily, ‘Thomas, what are you doing?’

There was a pause. ‘Well, there is one thing I would very much like to do, actually. If you will let me,’ said Thomas.

Alex grasped the implication and his eyes widened. ‘You can’t be serious. We’re out in the open. I mean, snogging is one thing but-’ he said. 

‘You needn’t worry,’ said Thomas. ‘No one can see us.’

‘What? Do you have a fucking invisibility spell as well??’

Thomas grinned. ‘Nothing quite so useful I’m afraid. All I meant was that the Gardens have closed, there is no public access along this path and, by this time,’ Thomas checked his watch, ‘the last of the employees will be leaving, if they have not already, by the main gate on the far side. It’s a botanic garden, Alex, no one stays here overnight.’

‘I am not about to endanger our reputations, you have my word,’ he continued and his hand settled on Alex’s crotch again. ‘When I said no one can see us, it’s because there really is no one else here. I’ve been coming here for more years than I care to remember and have yet to see another soul at this time of day. Furthermore,’ and his hand became more insistent, ‘in the extremely unlikely event anyone does approach, we are protected by both the foliage of this particular tree and that curve in the path just there.’

Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘You… planned this. You chose to stop here on purpose.’

Thomas shrugged, and gave a smile which _almost_ approached a smirk. ‘Well, and so what if I did?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘More importantly, have I convinced you?’ and he punctuated the question with another lingering kiss.

‘Hmm. I can’t say I’m entirely happy,’ said Alex.

‘I regret to say that I don’t have a great deal of interest in that at this very moment, important though it will prove in the future no doubt. All I want to know now is: yes or no?’ and he gave Alex’s cock another encouraging nudge by way of emphasis.

Alex huffed. ‘Well, yes. Obviously.’ He started unbuckling his belt. ‘I always said you were a dangerous man.’

‘Believe it,’ said Thomas and, after giving Alex a swift peck on the lips, dropped to his knees.

‘And you in your nice suit trousers,’ said Alex.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to members of the Kew Constabulary who, presumably, *do* patrol Kew Gardens at night and who would have put a swift stop to any shenanigans of the type described here. However, that's what artistic licence is for.  
And I would also like to thank my primary Seagale enabler, without whom, etc.  



End file.
